Feathers (Reformatted)
by Kira Kyuu
Summary: Siobhan Potter used to always visit churches, at least when she could. She never knew that would give her something in return. After all, if you love God, He finds a way to repay that, does he not? (REFORMATTED AT THE SUGGESTION OF REVIEWERS.)
1. Feathers 1-10

**This is one of the few stories where my femHP does not, in fact, have a flower name. Instead, I have given her 'Siobhan' – pronounced the same as Chevon – and it's an Irish equivalent to Joan, and means 'God is gracious'. I did concede to giving her 'Juniper' as a middle name, even though it won't be mentioned much, if ever. . . And 'Evan' – where 'Evans' is drawn from – is a Welsh name that can be an alternative to John, which also means 'God is gracious'. :3**

'**Kian' is also an Irish based name, meaning 'ancient' and 'enduring'. (It also sound like cayenne pepper :3 Figured I'd give someone a somewhat plant-sounding name)**

**This is not included in my Plunnie Farm due to that fact that this will be an interconnected drabble series.**

**Feathers**

**Siobhan Potter**

She wasn't sure what had gotten into Aunt Petunia. "I'm only a few months off of my seventeenth!" she protested incredulously. A scowl marred her lightly freckled features as the blue-eyed woman still ushered her into the car, shoving a carryall with her uniforms and schoolbooks into the teen's arms.

"I don't care," Aunt Petunia snapped in return, then abruptly looked contrite, "My father has asked that you spend this summer with him and you _will_ do so."

The Girl-Who-Lived sank back into the back seat of the car, feeling as though someone had punched her in the gut. "I have a grandfather?" she whispered in shock.

Aunt Petunia nodded tensely, "Kian Evans. He has Tourette Syndrome, and is a veteran of the second World War, so you better respect him."

"Tourette. . . That's where you say stuff randomly, right?" Siobhan hesitantly asked, remembering the small book of common mental disorders that Hermione had given her when she had started to 'hear voices' in her second year at Hogwarts.

The Dursley woman pursed her thin lips, nodding curtly. Thankfully, her niece fell silent for most of the trip.

"You never told me why your _school_ closed early," Petunia muttered. Siobhan had been sent back to the Dursley residence in early January, instead of late March. Pale, leaf green eyes meet Petunia's cornflower blue ones.

"I suppose I didn't." The _You never asked_ was left unmentioned. Petunia flinched, _Why do her eyes look like Da's?_

**Feather Two**

"There was an attack," Siobhan murmured, turning her eyes away from her aunt. "Dumbledore, some of our muggle-born classmates, and a few of the professors where killed. It will probably disappoint you and Uncle Vernon that I was one of the students almost killed." The teen shivered faintly, but Petunia's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.

"Why would we be disappointed?" _Please don't say what I think you mean . . ._

"I didn't die. I know you both hate me and want me gone."

Petunia felt tears prick at her eyes as she opened her mouth to retort, but she stopped. What had they done to refute that, after all? They had always insisted that Siobhan was a burden, that she wasn't worth the clothes on her back. They treated her almost as badly as lepers were in the old days, even after she had saved Dudley's immortal soul.

Disgust roiled in the woman's gut, suddenly realizing what harm they had wrought upon their own blood.

**Feather Three**

When they reached the London Heathrow, Petunia emptied her purse of bills and dug out a silver necklace – the simple little cross pendant shining even after all these years.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," Petunia admitted quietly, "We were horrid to you when we should have been kind. The. . . The necklace was Lily's." The woman passed the teen the necklace, bills, passport, and ticket. _You can't undo any of the harm you've done,_ she thought to herself, self-hate finding its root.

Siobhan studied her aunt, wondering if this was all a joke. But, no. . . she seemed sincere. "The attack was committed by Voldemort's people. You're a target because you're my family, so get out of Britain while you're alive." That was as much of an offer of forgiveness as any of the Dursleys would get from her.

Aunt Petunia nodded in understanding, her eyes shining oddly in a way that reminded Siobhan of Hermione or Luna when they were sad.

"Goodbye, Siobhan."

**A Tanakh is the canonical collection of Jewish texts that are the base for a lot the Christian Old Testament. I chose that because Hebrew is a beautiful language, written and spoken.**

**Feather Four**

The flight lasted longer than Siobhan had thought it would. Eventually, out of boredom, she turned to the man – the priest – next to her.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Father, but do you have a Bible I may borrow?" Siobhan needed something to read, after all, and she never did get a chance to read all of any single version of the Bible.

The priest turned to her, his dark eyes twinkling beneath the mass of white hair on his head and face. He rather reminded her of Hagrid, in that manner. "I am afraid I only possess a _Tanakh,_ my dear child." Her face must have showed her confusion.

"A _Tanakh_ is a Bible, but written in one of its early forms – in Hebrew," he explained quietly.

Siobhan bit her lip, brow drawn together. She didn't know Hebrew, only Latin and Gaelic, thanks to her lessons in school prior to Hogwarts, and while she picked up languages rather easily. . . She was unsure of how to ask for lessons in at least reading Hebrew from the priest.

**Feather Five**

A light touch on her forearm made Siobhan flinch away from the priest next to her, but it did catch her attention.

"Please, allow me to show you." He was holding a worn leather-bound book between them. Cautiously, Siobhan leaned forward.

"This is '_m'khashepah'_. It means 'one who does evil magic'. This passage translates, roughly, to 'suffer not the witch to live'." Siobhan felt her face harden._ He knows I am a witch_, she thought angrily.

"Most modern translations leave out the 'evil' part, deeming it a reason to kill witches. Those who are of proper ranking in the Church do not believe so, my child, so worry not. Your magic is a God-given gift," the priest assured her quietly, placing a large, rough hand upon her shoulder, ignoring her flinch away.

**Feather Six**

_My injuries. . . They don't hurt as much,_ Siobhan realized abruptly, turning back towards the inside of the plane, eyes searching for the kind Priest. The grey Job's Tears rosary with a bone crucifix dug into her hand.

The kind priest was nowhere to be seen. She waited, for a short while, but the plane quickly emptied with no sign of the man who had given her a precious Bible and the Rosary from around his own neck. _Who was he?_

A soft chiming of bells brought her attention over to her left, behind the witch. A rough cardboard sign bearing her name was held aloft by a sun-kissed man, a shorter – would it be moon-kissed, for a pale dark haired man? It should be – man with blue eyes visible even from this distance beside him, and an older man wearing large glasses looking at the crowd that had disembarked. The night and day men seemed to be arguing, not paying attention to the crowd mulling around them.

**Please note that I'll attempt to do an Irish accent to the best of my ability, but it WILL NOT be perfect. 'Aingael' means angel.**

**Feather Seven**

The moon-kissed man noticed Siobhan first. "Are yeh Siobhan, _aingael_?" he asked, edging forward slightly. Her eyes flitted over him, his friend, then onto the old man.

"Kian Evans?" Siobhan asked quietly. Her voice had lost some its typical British lilt – which she usually picked up after returning to the Dursleys – due to her impromptu lessons with the Priest.

"Y-yes. I-I'm glad t'see yeh're well, Siobhan," Kian replied, a grin lifting his aged face. Her eyes once again darted to the two men, but she gave a partial shrug.

"I've been better, honestly, sir. I'm early due to an incident at my school," she admitted, her face not changing from its cautious mask.

"At Hogwarts? 'S everythin' alright?" Kian inquired, a few curses slipping out of his mouth. She ignored them – the curses, not the people.

"The school's been closed until further notice," she equivocated dully, "So. . . I can stay for longer, if you wish me to."

"A'course! I'll b-be happy t'ave yeh, my dear!" he said, almost as if he were shocked that she had to ask. Maybe he was. Aunt Petunia had seemed honestly ashamed of her behavior, and that had to have had a reason.

Or maybe he was just nicer than Aunt Petunia ever was. Time would tell.

**Feather Eight**

It was as Siobhan was tucking away her under-uniforms that the night and day men finally introduced themselves as Connor and Murphy MacManus – regular patrons of the pub her grandfather owned, _McGinty's_.

"It's nice to meet you," she stated blandly. Living at the Dursleys had left her with little modesty – Aunt Petunia had always supervised her showers or rare baths, after all. Hogwarts' dorm-showers and restrooms, and the Quidditch locker rooms had further driven in that lack of modesty.

"How'd yeh get hurt?" the sun-kissed one – Connor – asked, his voice suspicious.

"I _did_ say there was an incident at my school," she hedged, "I was one of the ones injured in that."

Blue-eyes – Murphy – scoffed lightly. "Jus' tell us, _aingael._ Ain't any use in hidin' it." He wavered under the flat stare Siobhan directed at him.

"Please stop using that petname. If you must give me one, use Shiv. It's what my –" She cut herself off, closing her eyes as she desperately tried to block out images of bloodied corpses, of unseeing eyes. She continued after a moment, her voice wavering slightly. "It's what my friends used to call me." _Now, only Hermione . . ._

**Feather Nine**

Kian came in not long later, carrying a sandwich and glass of water, presumable from the small kitchen in the flat above _McGinty's_, where he – and now she – lived.

"Why don't yeh tell us what happened?" he asked – a few sputtering curses calmly ignored by Siobhan and the men.

She looked up at the ceiling, her hand finding the bone crucifix as they brought up the past. The attack.

"Very bad things happened," Siobhan said quietly, "Some people died. Can we not talk about it?"

"Are yeh hurt? Was it _them_?" Kian demanded urgently, stepping forward with a worried look upon his weathered face. She looked at him with a small frown.

"I _did_ say I was one of the people hurt in the incident at school," she stated, a far too mild tone in her voice for their comfort.

"How bad were yeh hurt?" the sun-kissed man asked, stepping forward before his moon-kissed brother did.

She must have looked bewildered. "I'm not going to die from them, if that's what you're worried about," she said, feeling her face contort – unwillingly – into a confused expression.

"More worried about yeh bein' in pain," Murphy said lowly – he sounded almost. . . Siobhan looked away, trying to dismiss images of Neville. Of what he was now cursed with.

"I'm on medicine," she lied instead, "So I'll be fine. Really."

Somewhere deep inside, she wished they hadn't believed her.

**Feather Ten**

Siobhan bit her lip, looking at the tattoo shop warily. It was one of the few places she thought would hire her, as she was under eighteen. The other was _maybe_ the meat packing plant, but Connor and Murphy worked there. As much as she liked the men, it. . . It was probably best if she at least tried to stay distant.

Yes. Yes, Siobhan thought it would be best. At least for now. She didn't want to . . . _replace_ her friends so soon after, well, since they were gone.

With a soft sigh, the teen entered the tattoo shop, glancing around for the owner or at least one of the artists. An older man was hunched over a sketchbook, his pencil moving furiously. She just stood awkwardly, waiting for him to finish.

_**AN:**_ Okay. All of these were recompiled into one joint chapter at the suggestion of some reviewers. If you'd like to see the original version, it's still up. Yay nostalgia.


	2. Feathers 11-20

**Feather Eleven**

The man finally looked up, mercurial eyes piercing Siobhan. His graying burgundy hair was shorn into a military haircut. _He does look like a soldier,_ she decided.

"Didja need somethin', girl?" he demanded gruffly.

"A job," she bluntly replied, "Preferably a decent one. I can clean, take out trash. . . anything that you need me to do," Siobhan paused, "Except actually tattooing someone."

He studied her, thick eyebrows drawn together. "Look, girl, this ain't an area yer gonna want a job in. Look for a petshop or somethin' elsewhere," he finally said, clearly dismissing her as he turned back to his sketchpad.

A scowl crossed her features. "Look, _man_, my name is Siobhan. I _live_ in this area, so please explain to me why I should look for a job further away."

That drew a surprised – and considering – glance from the artist.

**AN: Updates are going to be sporadic. No, I won't increase the length of the chapters. They will always be between 100 and 300 words long, hence why this is a **_**drabble-like**_** story. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but that's the way it's gonna be. I don't want to burn myself out doing only part of this.**

**Feather Twelve**

"Why come here for a job?" the tattoo artist asked after a moment, "Why not th'store down th'road or even th'packin' plant? Both have an easier time of hirin' a young thing like yeh."

Siobhan stared flatly at him. "Because I don't want to," she replied simply, "I chose this place."

"Why?" he retorted.

"Why not?" They both knew there were many reasons why not to choose the tattoo studio. Not the least of which was that they did not know each other.

"Fine, girl. We'll try this out. Pay'll depend on how well yeh do, and yeh'll start tomorrow when yeh get off'a school." The tattoo artist turned back to his paper.

"What time does the shop open?" Siobhan asked.

"Seven. We close at nine." The artist frowned slightly at her.

"Tomorrow, then." Siobhan nodded solidly, then left without another word.

**Coverphoto courtesy of Astrocat on Deviant Art.**

'**Malachi' is a male Irish name pronounced 'mala-kee'. It means 'my angel' or 'messenger of God'. Quinn is a common surname, and means either 'wisdom' or 'chief'.**

**Feather Thirteen**

Siobhan arrived at eight, after having breakfast with her grandda and a few of the early regulars – they did provide some food even this early in the day.

"I thought I told you _after_ school," the tattoo artist growled.

"My school's let out," Siobhan replied flatly, "Hence why I'm looking for a job."

The artist still frowned at her. "If yer lyin', girl . . ."

Siobhan smiled slightly. "I'm not."

With that said, she got to work – wiping down the counter and sweeping the floors with things she found in a supply cupboard. At least they – well, Malachi – had the things she needed to do her job. The Dursleys sometimes didn't.

**Feather Fourteen**

Siobhan ended up getting paid fifty dollars at the end of the day.

"Buy yehself something sweet," Malachi had grumbled gruffly. She just tucked the money away in one of her books.

Her schedule for working at the tattoo shop would be Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday afternoons, excepting this immediate Tuesday (It had been a Monday she had come in and cleaned).

"Yeh got yerself a job?" Murphy had asked in surprise upon hearing she had to go to work.

"Did you expect me to sit around on my arse while I'm here?" Siobhan replied, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

"Yer a teen," Murphy admitted. Which meant he expected her to be lazy.

She snorted slightly. "I have to do _something_, or I'd go crazy."

**Feather Fifteen**

"Yeh've gone all responsible, haven't yeh?" Connor asked with a ragged smirk – was ragged the right word? It seemed ragged, tired, worn, to her.

"I am more responsible than others my age tend to be," Siobhan replied rather blandly.

"Maybe, but yeh got a _job!_ Me 'n Murph didn' even want to get one here, but we had t'."

Siobhan shook her head. She honestly couldn't believe how some people could laze around all day, then be able to sleep at night. She had to tire herself out doing something – anything, really. Recently she started to do pushups and jogging and other such things just to sleep properly at night.

"I'm not you," she told him.

Sharp eyes – _They're a shade or five lighter than mine_, she realized absently – studied her.

"No," he allowed rather solemnly, "I s'pose yeh're not."

**Feather Sixteen**

Connor and Murphy were rather persistent, it seemed, in getting her to enjoy her stay in Boston.

"Yeh've got to have spendin' money by now," Murphy said with a dry chuckle. He said that because now she also helped serve food – not drinks, she wasn't even eighteen yet, not to mention most who got drinks were incorrigible flirts – at her grandda's pub.

"I do," she allowed with a partial shrug.

"C'mon. We'll even take yeh shoppin'," the blue-eyed twin wheedled. His brother shot him a brief look of annoyance.

Siobhan hid a smile. "I don't like to go shopping – there are too many people in one spot, usually."

That drew a nod from both men. Shopping malls were usually crowded. "We could take yeh later tonigh'," Connor offered slowly.

**Feather Seventeen**

Grandda sent Siobhan off without needing to be convinced.

The twins were kind, but rough around the edge – _And doesn't that sound so cliché? –_ and they did care for her. They cared for Kian, too.

They insisted on taking her to one of the many delis for lunch – brunch? – as well as helping pay for new, sturdy clothing.

"Not much o' a girl, are yeh?" Connor asked when they passed by handbags and make-up without a second glance.

"Hm?" Siobhan replied, then realized what he had meant. "Oh. All that is alright, if there's an occasion for it, like a dance or a date. Not much use in prettying up when that's how you normally look, is there?"

No, Connor supposed, there wasn't.

**Feather Eighteen**

_Empty brown eyes stared back at her, accusing and cold. "Ron?" Hermione croaked in horror. Siobhan couldn't tear her eyes away from his fallen form._

"_Ron?" Hermione called again, more desperate this time. Her voice cracked, a sob tearing itself from her throat. Siobhan just stood there, returning her dead friend's stare, just as blank and empty as his dead orbs._

_It might have been better, if maybe he hadn't had his insides torn out of him. It might have been better, if Siobhan hadn't seen the spell or its caster murder him. It might have been better, if she had been able to save him the pain of feeling his insides being torn out._

What do I do?_ she thought to herself. _What do I do now? So many died. . .

**Feather Nineteen**

Perhaps it was merely Siobhan's imagination, but her mending injuries hurt far more than they usually did. Hopefully no one would notice.

Malachi sent her home earlier than usual – _But that could have been due to it being a Saturday,_ she told herself– and the regulars at the pub were starting to give her _looks_, but that was fine. It was fine. It had to be fine. She couldn't deal with it not being fine.

_You want them to ask, though. You want them to know what's wrong, so you can be comforted even though you don't _deserve_ it. What you deserve is this pain so you can atone for your transgressions against the innocent. You deserve pain for the deaths of your friends and the curses you have brought upon the survivors._

Siobhan whimpered softly, wanting to stop hating herself but . . . how could she, when she actually believed what she was thinking?

**Feather Twenty**

"Siobhan?" Kian's voice wobbled slightly as he called through her closed door.

Siobhan shoved away the pain – _It hurt so much, though. Why couldn't anyone see that? _– and answered. "Yes, Grandda?"

"C'n I come in?" he asked. She opened her door, hoping he wouldn't mention her reddened face. _Crying isn't good. Don't cry. Don't cry._

"Siobhan, I. . ." A few expletives fell out of his mouth. "I'm worried."

"About what, Grandda?" _Why ask if you know, _she thought, but she already knew the answer to that, too.

"About yeh," he replied, as she had thought, with his eyes rather large and sad behind his spectacles.

"I'm sorry," Siobhan admitted freely, "I'm trying to do better."

But her Grandda shook his head. "I jus' want yeh t'know I'm here. I _understand_ th' grief of losin' good people. Of friends," Kian explained softly.

Jaded green eyes fell to the floor. "Thank you, Grandda. But . . . It's too early yet."


	3. Feathers 21-30

**Feather Twenty-One**

After Kian left, Siobhan curled around herself. _It hurts._

She clutched at her short hair, her chest heaving silently. _It hurts._

Hot tears ran over her flushed features. _It __**hurts.**_

She didn't know what to do to make it _stop __**hurting.**_

Merely talking to her grandda wouldn't make it _stop_.

Siobhan stood. She put on a jacket, put on her shoes. Left the pub without seeing anyone – _They were closed now. Just for a few hours. Perfect time to leave._

She wandered.

Found a place – _A church? It feels. . . _– that felt safe. That felt welcoming.

Sat down and tried to smother the _hurt_ that poisoned her. The grief.

_How do I make it __**stop**__?_ _Please. . . make it __**stop**__._

**AN: Sorry, but it's important to realize Siobhan has untreated PTSD, survivor's guilt, and similar conditions.**

**Feather Twenty-Two**

Siobhan dreamt of singing lights that night. They danced around her, chirring and chirruping in equal measures.

She felt like she was being cradled, safe against someone's chest. The world around her looked like a . . . a galaxy, maybe. Stars that sang orbited around a brighter center that also sang, her deep within the hold of the rim stars.

_Safe,_ the stars whispered, _Safe with us. Just for tonight._

_Siobhan dreamt she was flying. Or falling forever, with little direction. Soft voices hummed around her, words indistinguishable from each other._

"_Precious one," a voice hissed in her ear. It made a sudden tenseness overtake her – did she even have a body? When she looked down, all she saw was soft grey light. But she still felt as if she had muscles to tense._

"_Away, brother. She is here for peace. Leave her, for now." This voice made the tenseness dispel, at least partially. There was a long pause._

"_Very well," the first voice hissed. Both presences vanished. Siobhan faded back into the peaceful dreamscape, eyes on the stars around her, marveling at the beauty of them darting around so._

**Feather Twenty Three**

A crash startled Siobhan out of her slumber. Three voices were hissing back and forth.

A man's voice suddenly called out, "Who's there?" The three voices fell silent. An abrupt cry of pain, and a low thump sounded in her ears.

With narrow eyes, Siobhan carefully rolled off of the pew she had fallen asleep on.

"He's a fuckin' priest!" one of the voices hissed.

"Be glad we didn't kill him, then," another replied.

Three men. . . Siobhan was sure she could catch them by surprise and take out one, maybe two. _Robbing a church,_ she growled angrily.

Her plan hadn't gone right. Sure, Siobhan had knocked one out, but one of the remaining two had a mean right hook. It was only luck that she had managed to know that one out semi-quickly with a hastily and wandlessly cast _Stupefy._ The third – being the guilty-feeling one – just sat down, his head hanging in shame.

Her head and neck throbbed painfully as she crouched to rouse the priest. Blood dripped from her face onto the white and green stole thrown askew by his fall. _Saint Patrick's is today,_ she realized. Two months had already passed. . . Yet her wounds felt like they were inflicted not a month ago.

**AN: Her wandless magic is weak. Don't worry about OPness.**

**Feather Twenty-Four**

Siobhan called the police – _Because this is the normal world and you have to call them, instead of arresting them yourself,_ she thought with a grimace – and then the pub.

Grandda sent Murphy and Connor to make sure she was alright. They arrived before the policemen did.

"Wha' th'fuck happened?" the sun-kissed twin demanded, sparing only a passing glance to the now tied up men. Murphy was the one to check on them, to make sure the unconscious ones were still unconscious and the awake one was complacent.

"I found them attempting to rob the church," Siobhan stated, her voice slightly nasally through her broken nose. She had found some tissues to blow out the excess blood and had straightened it back out the best she could.

"So ye decided t'take th'fuckers on? _With a priest?_" Connor demanded, gesturing at the elder man lain carefully on a padded pew.

Siobhan blinked, startled. "Of course not! I only attacked them after they – well, the two unconscious – threatened the priest's life!" she retorted coolly, her eyes narrowing. _If only I had been healthy._

It was then that the police arrived. Siobhan gave her statement to a Detective Duffy, asserted him that her only wound was the one on her face, and explained the conscious robber had willingly waited for the police.

She was allowed to leave with Connor and Murphy after providing where she lived and a way to contact her.

**Feather Twenty-Five**

"So, what exactly were ye thinkin'?" Murphy asked quietly, steering her into a coffee shop.

Siobhan blinked at him, brushing a finger over her swollen nose lightly. It throbbed, but hurt less than other injuries she had received over the years.

"Perhaps tha' I'd been through worse than two stupid men," she replied, and while that was true, she left out the part of her being sure she could win without loss of life due to her magic, as weak as it was.

"Y'mean three men that had th'gall to rob a damn church?" Connor spoke, still obviously irritated.

"Yes," Siobhan stated. After a glance over the menu, she ordered a small cake and a chai latte, ignoring the odd look the waitress gave her and the twins.

**Feather Twenty-Six**

As the trio left the small café, Siobhan studied the small note the waitress had given her with her cake, confused.

"Wha's wrong, _aingael?_" Murphy asked, seeing her frown. Wordlessly, she passed him the note, confusion still apparent.

His blue eyes narrowed in anger. "Wha' th'fuck!" he growled.

"'S not my fault Connor's irritation made her suspicious," Siobhan said quietly. The sun-kissed twin seemed confused until Murphy passed him the note, at which he repeated the curse.

There was a brief silence between the trio, where the witch was sure a _look_ was being exchanged between the two men.

"She didn' look tha' much older than ye," Connor eventually said.

"And?" she replied, brow furrowed.

"An' ye need friends. _Female_ friends, mind, as boys can be very . . . pushy," Murphy told her sternly.

_What?_ Siobhan was, admittedly, quite confused by their behaviour. She never had anyone actually _tell _her to get friends before.

**AN: Sorry, but I have a lack of people to work with. I have to utilize OCs. Would you guys mind if I used people from fandoms other than HP or BS?**

**Feather Twenty-Seven**

Siobhan, the next day, did get around to phoning the waitress – Ana Korvacs, a rather pretty dark red-haired girl with blue eyes.

They met up at a different café, where Siobhan once again ordered a small cake and a chai latte.

"Miss Korvacs, when you gave me the note. . . " The young witch wasn't sure as to how to explain just how wrong the woman had been.

"Are you alright?" Ana asked worriedly.

"I'm fine – that's the point. Neither Connor nor Murphy has harmed me in any way. I had interrupted a robbery the other day," Siobhan settled for telling her the gist, "And they were merely buying me a treat."

Ana seemed mortified. "I'm so, _so_ sorry! I – I guess I just assumed. . . "

"You did assume," Siobhan admitted, "But . . . at least you were concerned." Ana beamed at Siobhan, and began to chatter away about random tidbits about Boston, to dispel the awkward air she had created by accusing Connor and Murphy of abusing Siobhan.

**AN:** **Gate of Heaven Catholic Church is a real church in South Boston.**

**Feather Twenty-Eight**

"Th'ell happened t'yeh?" Malachi demanded as Siobhan stepped into his shop, two days after the church incident.

After a moment of debate, she admitted, "Gate of Heaven Catholic Church."

Malachi scowled fiercely. "What'd yer parents have t'say t'yeh fer bein' so damn stupid?" he growled.

A pause, where Siobhan stared at him, and he glared at her.

"They're dead, Mister Quinn. M'Grandda wasn't too pleased, but he was proud I stood up for the priest that nearly got murdered," she eventually replied, her voice having cooled significantly.

The tattoo artist's scowl froze in place, caught between wanting to still be angry at her for risking her life and the awkward shame of having accidentally triggered a sore spot.

"Jus' don't do it again. Yer one'a th'few workers I c'n actually like," he finally grumbled.

Siobhan didn't promise.

**Feather Twenty-Nine**

"Don't you ever go out, aside from with those two?" Ana asked, glancing over at the MacManus twins.

"Not really," Siobhan said, a careful shrug lifting her shoulders.

"Why not?" Blue eyes – darker blue than Murphy's own, but with a peculiar hint of green in them – studied her inquisitively.

"Hard to, when I only know them an' m'grandda," Siobhan admitted, "And you."

A determined look crossed Ana's features. "You're available tomorrow, right?" Ana asked.

Siobhan thought for a moment, then nodded. Malachi had given her a few days off, to recover from the church incident.

"I'm gonna take you to my friend's place. Teanna and her sister are great friends."

Siobhan found that she couldn't refuse Ana this time. Not unlike how Siobhan couldn't quite bring herself to actually tell the twins to shove off when they dragged her out of the pub.

**Feather Thirty**

Teanna and Laketta were two sisters of Jamaican descent, as well as nearly identical in appearance despite not being twins. The only difference was that Teanna opted for blue contacts while Laketta chose green, creating a rather bizarre effect due to their nearly black eyes.

"So, you're Siobhan?" Laketta asked, a small smirk in place.

"Yes," the witch replied blandly.

Teanna laughed slightly. "Ana told us about her little 'mistake'. So, are those two men free?" she inquired, a look on her face that Siobhan couldn't quite place.

"Free?" Siobhan parroted in confusion.

"Do they have girlfriends?" Laketta asked, the same look on her face, too. The youngest of the group frowned at them unsurely.

"I don't know. We aren't really tha' close, personally," Siobhan admitted reluctantly.

"Then why would they take you out?" Teanna asked, her face morphing into a frown.

She had to think about that, for a moment. "They're regulars at m'grandda's pub, s'all. Friends of th'family, even if I don't know them all tha' well." The three women exchanged _looks_. Siobhan was getting tired of people doing that.


	4. Feathers 31-40

**Feather Thirty-One**

"Siobhan." The girl looked up at Malachi, brow furrowing.

"Yes?"

"Yer doin' great, but . . . I think yeh only need t'be here for Monday and Friday. Alrigh'?" he said, sounding almost hesitant.

Siobhan was a very good cleaner, and it seemed Malachi wasn't as much of a clean-nut as Aunt Petunia had been.

"Alrigh'. Did you need anything else, sir?" she replied. _A new job. Perhaps that pawn shop. . . Or Ana's coffee shop?_

"No."

Siobhan went back to cleaning, ignoring the enticing images of marked skin. _Odd that I __**like**__marked skin, considering. . ._ Considering also that scars – marks of a different sort – were a large part of her life, well, perhaps it wasn't so odd.

**Feather Thirty-Two**

She decided to approach the owner of the pawn shop. Except, she had turned her down – at least until Siobhan turned around and identified a small plaque as belonging to a branch of the small French merchant family Malfoy, and bearing its coat of arms, yet not its motto, for some peculiar reason.

The proprietress had frowned at her speculatively, a small 'ah' of realization leaving her lips.

"You're _that_ Siobhan Potter." The older woman's brow drew together in thought. "Very well. Once a week, at first. You can help me organize and catalogue things. I am Bonnie Williams."

Bonnie Williams was an older woman – perhaps sixty years old – and had only the faintest Scottish lilt to her voice. She was strict in a way that reminded Siobhan of Aunt Petunia, yet kind in a way she wasn't too sure of. Her husband, Anthony Williams, was away – doing what, Siobhan didn't know.

All Siobhan knew for sure, was that she was fond of the woman and fond of the pawn shop.

**AN: ****A Thaisce is pronounced 'ah hash-keh' and means 'my treasure' as far as I know. I'm not entirely sure if I am using it properly, so please tell me if I made a mistake. If I have, it shall be changed at a later time.**

**Feather Thirty-Three**

"Almos' didn' recognize ye, _A Thaisce__!_" Connor ribbed gently, a broad grin on his face.

Siobhan ducked her head slightly, a blush working across her face. While she hadn't been able to do much at Malachi's or at Bonnie's, she _had_ found a place in the relatively nearby dance studio. As a consequence, she wasn't around when the twins were, or at least not as often.

"Where ye been, _aingael_?" Murphy asked in curiosity, shooting his brother a small confused look as she wasn't looking at either of them.

"Aroun'. Malachi 'n' Bonnie've let me out of work more often, so. . . I found th'nearest dance studio," she admitted.

"Bonnie?" the twins asked simultaneously, another confused look – that she caught this time – was exchanged.

**AN: To my knowledge, 'Urban Dance Center of South Boston' does not exist.**

**Feather Thirty-Four**

"Yes, Bonnie. Th'owner of th'only pawnshop within a mile," Siobhan replied with a small sigh.

The two men looked at her, then at each other, then Murphy seemed to realize something. "_Dance studio?_" he nearly yelped in shock.

She gave the moon-kissed man an odd look. "Yes. . . The Urban Dance Center of South Boston. I'm still unfit to learn how to fight, but the instructor had me try some poses and moves, to see if he could teach me – an' I passed. Mostly. So, I'm learning t'dance."

"Ye. . . 'mostly passed'?" Connor asked in confusion. Siobhan merely nodded.

"How can ye only 'mostly pass' somethin'?" Murphy spoke up, prodding the teen with a small frown.

"By still being injured. I can do most of the basic forms, and that's all he cared about," she explained with a put-upon sigh.

Dancing taught a lot. It also kept one fit. _That_ was all _she _cared about.

**Feather Thirty-Five**

Siobhan pulled at the end of her dress nervously, cursing her mouth.

When Tianna, Ana, and Laketta had found out she was (once again) going out with the twins (_It isn't like that! Not that they __**listen**__, _she thought to herself) they promptly dressed her up and did her up enough to make it casual by their standards. Siobhan had stonewalled them from doing any further.

That didn't excuse the short dress they had shoved her in, or the sheer leggings, or the _heeled boots_.

Siobhan wouldn't admit that it had been very satisfying to see their mouths drop open in shock for the sole reason that she had to _explain_ that her friends thought she had to dress up when going out, no matter who it was with.

She would never give the three women the chance to laugh at her embarrassment, after all. Not if she could prevent it.

Siobhan had gotten enough of that at the Dursleys and at Hogwarts, after all.

**Feather Thirty-Six**

It was her birthday. Siobhan rolled her shoulders, trying to dismiss the tingling on her back. She should have slept on her stomach last night.

She hesitated, stepping down from the flat cautiously. It was quiet, even for a morning. The now of-age witch had been planning to spend the day in, but. . . Did Grandda know today was her birthday?

Aunt Petunia would have told him, if he had asked, and he seemed the type to ask. He was indeed kind, as she had wondered months ago.

"_Surprise!"_

Siobhan blinked owlishly at the group of people gathered in the pub. The twins – Connor and Murphy as well as Laketta and Tianna – were there. Anna and Rocco were, too. She turned to stare at her grandfather, a confused frown in place, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a smile on his weathered face.

**Feather Thirty Seven**

Laketta and Tianna had gravitated to the twins. Ana was talking to Rocco.

Siobhan was happy, sitting next to her grandda, eating a slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. There had been only a few candles on the cake, but that was alright because it took less of the frosting away.

She blamed Remus (_He's still alive, he's still alive, even if he won't talk to you, so don't worry about him, and don't get upset on your birthday because Grandda worked hard on this!_) for her love of chocolate. It certainly hadn't been the Dursleys who got her addicted to the sweet, after all.

"D'ye like it?" Kian asked hesitantly. Siobhan cast him a smile and a nod.

"This is the greatest birthday party, ever," she reassured him.

And it was. Because it was with her family – Kian _loved_ her – and her friends. Even if said friends were currently occupied with flirting with each other. A small frown flicked across her face, primarily aimed at Laketta and Tianna.

_Stop it,_ Siobhan scolded herself, _They're allowed to flirt. You aren't dating either of them – nor do you plan on doing so._ But she was worried. She knew Tianna and Laketta – they were sweet, and could be good women, but they were also shallow. So, she was concerned for Connor and Murphy.

_They can take care of themselves_, she thought with a small shake of her head. They could. They've had their own girlfriends occasionally meet them at the pub. She was sure they could handle themselves.

And the fact she had a small crush on them – _Both of them, because it was too difficult to imagine one without the other, and why was she even thinking about this?_ – might have been the reason she was so protective. Or that's just how she was, now.

**Feather Thirty Eight**

So, the itching never dissipated – the one that had started the morning of Siobhan's seventeenth birthday. It was constant, sweeping over different areas on her back, gradually sinking down to just above her buttocks by suppertime.

Her friends had actually brought her presents, too, on a different note.

Laketta and Tianna had, of _course_, gotten her makeup.

Ana had gotten her a dress and leggings – "Because I know you absolutely hate showing your legs," she had explained, much to Siobhan's surprise.

Rocco, oddly, had gone with a rather large supply of chai latte teabags and a smaller supply of cakes. The same cakes she usually ordered at the coffeehouse. A quick glance at Ana – who smirked – told Siobhan that Rocco had gone to her for help, instead of Grandda or the twins.

Grandda had gotten her two things. One was a pass to a 'mixed martial arts' studio, the other was a silver-coloured bracelet. It was a rather simple bracelet, but beautiful, in that three separate 'threads' of silver spun around each other.

Murphy had gotten her a _book_, and not just any book: a Gaelic _songbook_. And while Murphy had given her something superfluous, Connor had gone with _practical._ He had given her a knife, a very simple but sturdy thing that fit in her palm almost as if it were meant to be there. The blade was only three inches long, and also exceedingly sharp – something she realized by just touching the sharp edge – and had its own little sheath.

"It's alrigh' to carry it," Connor had said, "Checked the laws m'self." She had beamed at both of them because she liked music, and she liked to be able to defend herself.

Siobhan spent quite a bit of the day – after the little party was over – tucked away in her room, reading her songbook, sipping on tea, and occasionally eating a small cake.

**AN: As far as I'm aware, 'Venia' means forgiveness, pardon, grace, and indulgence in Latin.**

**Feather Thirty Nine**

Siobhan frowned at the small dark line she could just barely see in the mirror. _What. . ._ With quick steps, she locked the restroom door and tore off her top, twisting to stare at her back in disbelief.

_So much for getting 'Venia' down my spine,_ she thought with a heavy sigh – because _of course_ this would happen to her.

'This' being the large sweeping black-and-skin coloured wings etched into her back and sides, disappearing down into her jeans. Siobhan had no idea as to the _how_ or _why_ they were there.

The small dark line that had caught her attention was the very tip of a feather on the tip of one of the wings.

_Inheritance, maybe?_ Very few witches and wizards received any visible 'inheritance', as it was called. The coming of age was sacred – or it had been, once upon a time. Britain placed less value on it than, say, the French or the Bulgarians.

Numbers, of course, had a specific resonance with magic, as did runes, hence the Ancient Runes and Arithmancy courses Hogwarts had given. As such, once one reached a specific age, sometimes one would receive a power boost, or their eyes would change, or some other trivial thing. No one Siobhan knew of had ever received a _mark_, let alone one that seemed to move, as hers did.

She had to talk to Bonnie.

**Feather Forty**

"I haven't seen the like," Bonnie said, running gnarled fingers over Siobhan's marks, "Are you sure you didn't have Quinn do this?"

Siobhan gave Bonnie a flat look. "It looks like it just healed, if it _were_ a tattoo," the young witch stated instead of bothering to answer a question they both knew the answer to.

"It's not," Bonnie stated quietly, "Like a tattoo, I mean. Can you feel the slight ridge? Moreso than a tattoo. And it positively thrums with power, a sort that I have never come across before."

Bonnie and Siobhan stared at each other, coming to an agreement without saying a word. Bonnie would ask her contacts about obscure magic or otherwise enchanted objects, as well as 'marks'.

Siobhan would, in turn, do what she could to help. Which, admittedly wasn't as much as either of them would like, but Siobhan _could_ provide money for bribes or objects that possessed similar qualities or could potentially explain such a phenomenon. She could also document any other things she noticed about the marks.

Hopefully they wouldn't spread.


	5. Feathers 41-50

**AN: If anyone has ideas about what they would like to see or what should happen after the first Boondock Saints movie, feel free to offer them up.**

**Feather Forty One**

Life carried on as normal, at least around Siobhan's friends. Malachi and Bonnie were collaborating, trying to figure out Siobhan's marks – Bonnie having enlightened the tattoo artist as to magic.

They found out nothing about her marks. Magical tattoos weren't very prevalent and relied on their wearer's magic to move. They only thrummed with said wearer's magic, as well, meaning her marks were. . . different.

The closest they had found to her marks, aside from magical tattoos, were very old records of tattoos forming on servants of gods in Asia or the Americas. However, as Siobhan never _actually_ went to churches or served any gods, that was dismissed. At least until they could collect more information.

"I don't really understan' all'a this," Siobhan eventually said, her voice a lazy drawl. Malachi looked at her inquiringly.

"The purpose of gaining _tattoos_," she elaborated, "What drove my magic to mark me like that? I would understan' changin' anythin' else – m'eyes, especially – but giant bloody wings?" Malachi shrugged and admitted he really didn't know.

They had thought she meant her eyesight – it wasn't perfect, finding it easier to latch onto moving things then something sitting still – because, well, that's all they thought was wrong with her eyes.

Siobhan had meant the colour. Just a touch off of _Avada Kedavra_ green.

She mentally shrugged.

It wasn't like anyone really noticed, anyway. No one except her. And that was fine. Really. It was.

**Feather Forty Two**

The Invisibility Cloak felt like silk, or perhaps water. Solemn green eyes stared down at the dove grey visible side, studying the lighter grey runic designs in the fabric.

_All my life, I've hidden,_ she thought to herself.

_Hidden behind masks, just to keep myself safe._ When Siobhan had finally let her mask loosen, those she cared for died – or worse.

Even _thinking_ about it made her want to scream, to rage, to sob hysterically. . . to ask _Why_.

_Why_ did Ron have to die in pain?

_Why_ did her classmates have to experience so much pain and death?

_Why_ was sweet, gentle, shy Neville cursed to never feel rested, to feel the pain of his body forcibly changing, to be a _werewolf just like __**Remus**__?_

And, most of all. . .

_Why couldn't she handle all of this __**better**__?_

_Why was she so __**weak**__?_

**Feather Forty Three**

The instant Siobhan thought that, she took it back. She _wasn't_ weak, not really. She just wasn't able to protect other people the way she could protect herself.

It was the people around Siobhan that couldn't handle her enemies. Not her.

And that scared the witch. A lot. What if Death Eaters – or, God forbid, _Voldemort_ himself – found out she had living family, family that she cared for?

Her thoughts scrambled for an answer to keep Kian safe, uncertainty warring with the _need_ to keep her grandda safe.

"D-Dobby?" she called quietly, not expecting an answer.

A soft _pop_ echoed in her room, the House Elf appearing. Dobby seemed surprised, looking around hesitantly.

"You called mes, Missy Shiv?" he asked nervously. Siobhan nodded.

"I. . . I know you like your freedom. But. . . Can I ask you to make sure no magicals harm my grandda? I'll pay you, of course. Let you have holidays. . ." She trailed off, as Dobby was staring up at her with awe-filled eyes.

"You woulds be trusting Dobby with yous family?"

She gave a semi-hesitant nod. "Just. . . I don't want you hurting him to protect him, like you did in my second year. He's not. . . He isn't young, like I had been."

Dobby nodded frantically, apparently pleased with his new job.

"Dobby would be most pleased to be guarding Missy Shiv's family. Most pleased indeed!"

"Thanks. Er. . . You can go, until I can introduce you to Kian, okay?" Siobhan said. Dobby nodded again, vanishing with another soft _pop_.

She really hadn't thought this through.

**Feather Forty Four**

Kian studied his granddaughter thoughtfully, noting how her hands shook.

Oh, he knew _something_ was wrong. Hard not to notice, but. . . Sometimes even he fell under willful ignorance. It was only human, after all.

Kian may not have been the smartest man, but he was loyal. He tried to do his best by his own.

"Siobhan?" he asked gently, catching his granddaughter's attention as she helped finish closing the pub.

"Yeah, Grandda?"

"What's wrong?"

Siobhan blushed slightly, in embarrassment most likely. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong," she said insistently.

Kian raised his eyebrows, sat in a stool, and waited.

She sighed, falling into the stool beside him. Her hands were tangled in her necklaces – a grey beaded rosary and a silver cross – playing with them nervously.

"I'm worried. For you, mostly, and the twins – they're here most often, aren't they? Alongside Rocco," Siobhan explained quietly, "The Dark Lord isn't dead. He killed at least a dozen people in the attack on my school last year. He was the reason why I was able to come to you early."

Kian's mind was racing, horror and fear most prominent. "Yeh aren't goin' back," he ordered impulsively. Siobhan merely stared at him with large sad eyes.

"If I don't go back. . . Grandda, if I don't go back, thousands of people will die," Siobhan said softly, her features twisting in a way that he _knew _wasn't going to let him have his way.

"Why? Why d'yeh'ave t'go back?" he demanded, "Why not let th'grown magicals take care a'their own problem?"

"Because _I'm_ the reason he attacked the school, Grandda! _I'm_ the reason he killed dozens of people, _I'm_ the reason he killed Mum and Dad!" she barked in reply, face hardening into a mulish expression. He stared at her, taken aback.

"What?"

**Feather Forty Five**

Siobhan drew in a shuddering breath, fighting down the guilt and frustration that caused her to spew all of that out so carelessly.

"Grandda, there was a prophecy," she slowly began to explain, giving him a very serious look, "That prophecy states _I_ am the one who has to end his reign of terror. It doesn't matter that I don't believe it, because _he_ does. _He _won't stop until I'm dead or worse."

She put her head into her hands, closing her eyes tightly as she felt tears unwillingly leak out.

"He heard part of the prophecy when it was made. That's why he went after my parents so blatantly."

"But. . . yeh were just a child," Kian protested quietly.

"All the more reason to end it early," Siobhan replied. "He wanted any potential opposition gone. He didn't know that by doing so, he fulfilled part of the prophecy that he hadn't heard."

The young witch brushed her fingers over the lightning bolt scar, her eyes opening and staring off into the distance.

"He decided to disrupt my education, to make sure I couldn't grow any stronger, and to ensure my support base – my _friends_ – wouldn't be able to help me. Thus, he attacked Hogwarts. Of my friends, I have only three alive – Hermione, Neville, and Luna – and most of the other students are unwilling to help me fight the Dark Lord. I would have died in Hogwarts, helping evacuate who I could and fighting off Death Eaters, if not for Collin, Cormac, and Neville."

Siobhan sighed weakly, scrubbing her face in an effort to get rid of any evidence that she had been crying, however slight.

"Collin and Cormac both died from their injuries. Neville lost an arm and was infected with lycanthropy. I have to go back. Or he will come looking for me."

**Feather Forty Six**

Kian's face twisted with emotions Siobhan couldn't identify. At least, not at first. But she recognized the pity, and then the sorrow.

"I _have_ to do this, Grandda," she told him quietly. His face fell.

"When are yeh plannin' on leavin'?" he asked, voice quiet and thick.

Siobhan tilted her head, musing. "I'm not fully healed yet, so. . . when I heal, unless I get – I'm going to be contacting the other ministries, see if they can give me reports of what is happening in Britain. Failing that, I'm going to have to go to Britain on a temporary basis to assess the situation myself." She bit her lip, her brow furrowing as she thought.

"I'll leave when I heal enough or when th'situation starts t'become critical in Britain, to the point of spilling over. There are others fighting for now, and. . . I'm not necessary, not yet, not while I'm still hurt," the witch finally offered, unsure herself of when, exactly, she would be leaving.

"Alrigh'," Kian sighed, "Is there anythin' I could do, if. . ." She wasn't the only one to think that he could be attacked.

"I have asked someone to look after you and the pub, when I do leave. He's. . . a creature called a house-elf, who's my friend."

Kian looked puzzled. "House-elf?"

A nod, then Siobhan called out for Dobby, who appeared with a soft pop. The house-elf looked around cautiously, brightening when he saw Siobhan.

"Mistress Shiv! Dobby is be glad to be seeing yous!" Siobhan frowned slightly at the title.

"Grandda, this is Dobby," she said, letting it slide for now. _It probably isn't important._

Kian stared at Dobby, his face flat with surprise.

**Feather Forty Seven**

Kian turned from the strange creature, looking at his granddaughter helplessly.

"Yes, he's sentient," she tried to explain, "And his race needs t'feed off magic, usually possessing a symbiotic relationship with. . . my kind. Dobby is under my employ, t'help protect you from His followers."

He turned back to Dobby. The creature was a small thing, spindly. "Magic?" he half-asked, earning a nod.

"House-elves have very strong magic that most of my kind is unable to defend themselves from," Siobhan explained, a cheerful note to her voice, as if recalling an amusing memory, "Most, if not all, of my kind has never needed to."

Kian nodded numbly, wishing fervently that the bastard that killed his daughter never existed.

(He tried not to think of the people he probably would never have met, or how likely it would have been someone _else_ would have stepped up and done what that man had done. How likely that the magical world have killed his daughter anyway, or stunted her life inside or outside of that world, merely because she was _muggleborn_.)

Wishing that Siobhan didn't have to go through war.

**AN: **Here's a bit of a Halloween special. I'm not really going to go into detail about what they do immediately after this, but perhaps on their way home. . . . -shrugs- If you want visuals of their costumes, ask me.

**Feather Forty Eight**

About two weeks after Siobhan introduced Kian and Dobby, the Twins – Laketta and Teanna, Siobhan hadn't seen the boys for a little while – arrived at the pub. They were dressed up as . . . sexy female pirates, according to them. They offered a sleek black dress and a pointy hat to Siobhan.

"Why am I the witch, and you both the pirates?" she asked in confusion.

"Anna's gonna be a witch, too, but she sent us to pick you up. We're going trick or treating," Teanna sing-songed, a grin curving her lips.

"Trick or treating? Aren't we a little too old to go trick or treating?" Siobhan asked. She sort of wanted to go, for the novelty. . . and for the chocolate you would get. Dudley had been an avid trick or treater, even though his parents hadn't ever let him dress up as something supernatural.

Laketta gave a horrified gasp. "Of course we aren't! Now, put on your costume."

Siobhan did so, pushing the Twins out of her room. A brief glance in the mirror showed that the low back did, indeed, reveal her marks. Tilting her head, she debated between using one of her school cloaks or perhaps. . .

She opened her door, wearing the soft dove-grey cloak, an aventurine and gold necklace replacing her rosary and the silver cross, and simple black flats on her feet instead of the high-heeled boots the pair had brought for her to wear.

"You look great! Now let's go!" Teanna cheered, grabbing Siobhan's arm and tugging her away.

"Bye, Grandda!" Siobhan barely got to call out as she was yanked out the door.

**AN: **I don't disfavor any country compared to others. Most of what I chose was done on a whim, with some consideration to their proximity to Britain, and has very little to do with real-world politics.

**Feather Forty Nine**

Siobhan sent off letters following that Halloween. Letters to the leaders of most Magical communities close to Britain. The Irish, the Nordic countries, everyone. Dobby helped, copying her message, her request for assistance.

Most replied back with false platitudes, hedging around the issue, and claiming Britain had itself under control. Some, like the French, offered to try and pass on pertinent information. Only the Irish and the Norwegians openly offered assistance – tutors, mostly, for her magic and for her body. The Americans offered healers and asylum only, not wanting to get into an affair over in Europe.

Siobhan accepted a single tutor from Norway and Ireland both, warning that she was recovering in a non-magical area and that they may need housing. She could pay for such housing, if it was necessary.

The young witch also accepted the offers of intelligence gathering, the stipulations offered by said countries deemed acceptable by her – there was not very much that Siobhan wouldn't do to end this thirty year war. Too many had already been lost – too many children, too many adults, too many in the grey area between being a child and being an adult. (Too much discrimination, as well, caused by this _damn_ war.)

The war had to end. Siobhan was willing to die for it. (But if she just held onto her family a little longer, no one could really blame her, could they? Because she _would_ die for the end of the war. She would do so _much_ to not have to see something like Hogwarts ever again, to not have any one else see such a . . . a massacre of innocence.)

**AN:** 'Alannah' is an Irish origin name meaning 'darling child', Asbjørn being a derivative of _Ásbjörn_, meaning 'god bear'. Their surnames are merely common ones associated with their nationalities.

**Feather Fifty**

Alannah O'Cleary encountered Asbjørn Nielsen outside of Siobhan Potter's current location. They both paused, glancing each other over. Asbjørn was a bearlike man, with dark hair and dark eyes, clad simply in practical, sturdy clothes. Alannah, however, had fair hair and sharp, flinty grey eyes, and dressed in brighter colours, clothes looking as if they were far too light, too thin for the coming winter.

"You are here for the girl as well, then?" Alannah asked flatly. Despite having spent her life in Ireland, she held only the slightest of accents.

Asbjørn nodded curtly, his eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps we can talk, before meeting Miss Potter," Alannah offered, gesturing away from the pub. Asbjørn tilted his head and nodded again.

"Lead on, then," he growled.

_Hopefully_, Alannah mused, _We can collaborate._


	6. Feathers 51-60

**Feather Fifty One**

Alannah and Asbjørn were strict and rigorous teachers, even if they took care to not exacerbate Siobhan's injuries.

Alannah was more adept at illusions and enchantments and healing – but curse injuries, as she claimed Siobhan's injuries were, were resistant to healing. It would take at least an additional year for Asbjørn's full training to even begin, as he taught more physical and _raw_ aspects of magic. He could start at a low level, but it wasn't much more than what Siobhan was already doing and engraving muscle memory of some fighting styles.

Kian had offered to explain at least to Murphy and Connor about magic ("They'd understan'," he claimed, "They know you.") so they could help – with getting her away from her own friends, who had a tendency to not take 'no' for an answer in going out, or getting her normal supplies as necessary. Siobhan had frowned and told him he could tell them, if he was certain that they wouldn't tell anyone else.

That was the rule of the American magical government, after all. Keep it hidden from most, do not attack non-magicals with magic, and one wouldn't be tracked down by 'the Dogs' (whoever or whatever those were; it wasn't exactly explained – no one really seemed to know, even Bonny or her contacts, but everyone still feared them). The laws were a little more elaborate, of course, but that was the simple version.

**Feather Fifty Two**

Bonny ended up finding something else on her marks. Just whispers, really, of old – _very_ old – magic. Tales – ancient myths to even the few that knew of them – that spoke of marks appearing upon flesh, marks that could come to life or give the marked one _abilities, _but weren't said to be from the gods, as their previous sources had indicated.

Siobhan was in no hurry to test out the proposition of Malachi, that having wings meant perhaps she could _fly_, despite the vague hope that it was true.

The information was more than what they used to know, but still not very useful. Siobhan carried on with her studies, doing her best to not let her marks distract her and to keep them hidden from her tutors for no other reason than she wanted to.

The Twins – Murphy and Connor, not Tianna and Laketta – ended up coming to her to ask questions, clarifications, then going to a church to ask if magic was a sin. The answer almost surprised them as much as it had her: Magic was a gift for mankind – not something evil, but a _gift._ A gift that could be used for good or ill, but that was the magic-users choice, wasn't it? And wasn't that what He wanted for his children? The right to _choose_?

**AN: **Sandwich is from imgur dot com /gallery/eZCua. The shop it came from (George's) does not exist. And, surprise, there's going to be a cameo in a few chapters. Perhaps you can guess who it will be, and here's a hint: They aren't from HP-verse or the Saint's 'verse.

**Feather Fifty Three**

The reports weren't very helpful, at first. Britain was quiet – too quiet, for what should have been going on, but . . . Perhaps since the fall of Hogwarts, there had been little resistance. Little _clear_ resistance, anyway.

Siobhan rubbed along one of the deep lacerations on her torso, frowning in thought. (The wound itself followed her ribs from apex down towards her hip; It was starting to heal, scabbed and scarring well, for a curse wound, according to Alannah. It also itched almost constantly.)

Dealing with the rot in Britain – with the Dark Lord and his followers – completely would be difficult. Nearly impossible, in fact, as ideas had an annoying tendency to remain in _someone's_ head – morally reprehensible or not. But they shouldn't be allowed to repress an entire sect of people based on _blood_ or _race_ or _magic_.

A knock on her door made Siobhan snap the files' folder shut, a small smile already in place as she turned to the door. Ana stood there, holding a large paper bag. "Brought one of those sandwiches you like from George's, and some oblatne and smokva from home," the red-haired woman explained, proffering the bag.

Siobhan's smile widened. Ana's – maternal – grandmother and grandfather were both Russian, and liked to cook. Siobhan certainly loved the desserts they offered when she visited, as Ana rarely offered them otherwise.

Her smile faded after a moment, studying Ana. "Is somethin' wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

The fact that it took Ana a long moment to answer further worried Siobhan.

"My father is going to be released from prison soon," Ana finally admitted. Green eyes met blue, worry clear.

"What did he do?" the witch cautiously asked. Ana grimaced, placing the paper bag on Siobhan's desk, next to the folder.

"He's a murderer."

**AN:** I realized that, in the last chapter, some may not know what oblatne or smokva were. They're both Russian desserts/sweets. Oblatne is a wafer with chocolate cream inside, while smokva is a dried fruit, sometimes cooked in syrup or honey.

For this chapter, I used the surname 'Alkaev', which is 'From the Russian verb _alkat_ "to wish, to be wished"' according to the site I use. And _'Malmulya'_ is supposed to be one of the most affectionate terms for 'mother' in Russian. If I'm wrong, please tell me.

ALSO! Early update for you! Yay!

**Feather Fifty Four**

Siobhan felt her brow furrow in confusion and concern.

"A murderer? Truly?" she asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice. The Kovacs and the Alkaevs – Ana and Natalya Kovac, and Nika and Artyom Alkaev – seemed like good judges of characters. Granted, Ana did mistake Murphy and Connor for abusive men. . .

Ana grimaced, pulling an old newspaper clipping out of her pocket. It was dated November 2, 1985. Ana wouldn't have even been born, yet, her day of birth being January 5, 1986.

'_Vigilante Caught Red-Handed!'_

Siobhan winced, but read through the article. Ana's father was detained on the scene of a double murder – except, her father had killed the killer. There were, according to the clipping, prior incidents of a man threatening suspected murderers who ended up dead not long later.

"Why does this make you worry?" the witch inquired, "Surely. . . Your mother spoke of him with love."

Ana nodded, eyes cast down. "I'm worried he will think _Mamulya_ had another man while he was with her. Or after he was put in jail."

The younger of the pair raised an eyebrow, casting Ana a disbelieving look. The waitress' hair was only a shade or two darker than her father's, and she most definitely had her father's eyes. Natalya may have had a closer shade of red hair, but the women had different, hazel eyes, not similar to Ana's crystal-like blue. Natalya had said, more than once, that she always saw her husband in Ana.

"When is he being released, and do you want me to go with you and Natalya?" Siobhan asked, cutting to the point.

"But – "

"Ana. You _look like him_. He will see that." And if he didn't, well, Siobhan wasn't above chewing out sixty-year-old vigilantes.

**AN: **So. Yeah. Him. Uhm. This kinda sprang itself on me while I was moving. No one protested my using characters of other fandoms minus some (_most_) details of their 'home-verse'. _

**Feather Fifty Five**

It was after Christmas that Walter Kovacs was released into his wife's custody. Just a few days before Ana's birthday, in fact.

Siobhan went with her friends, steadily ignoring the ache of her torso – they were more painful today, for some reason; perhaps the vague similarities to Sirius' own imprisonment/release were bringing up old memories, old pain.

Walter Kovacs was not as tall nor as 'evil' as the newspapers had tried to imply. He was perhaps five and a half feet tall – only an inch or two taller than Siobhan – but when he met her eyes, she could see why some people were scared of him.

Natalya didn't hold back, going straight to him and embracing him.

The courts had only been able to charge him with a single count of manslaughter, resulting in the twenty-three years in prison. His eyes shifted from Siobhan, who stood near the back of the trio, to Ana.

The waitress shifted uncertainly, then offered a hesitant, "Papa?"

The man's eyes widened fractionally, and Siobhan had to hide a grin at the barely disguised _delight_ that appeared in those blue eyes.

So far, everything seemed to be going smoothly. Walter, Natalya, and Ana chatted amongst each other, Siobhan tucking herself away from them to just observe.

She was so happy that Ana's fears were unfounded. Walter struck Siobhan as a _good man_ despite what society tried to claim.

_Like Sirius. Like Remus. Like Professor Snape. Like Hagrid._ The sudden comparisons blindsided Siobhan, leaving her breathless. A knot of pain wound itself tight around her heart, bringing her attention right back to what she had been, for now, trying to ignore: The war and what it had already cost.

**Feather Fifty Six**

Siobhan wasn't aware of her eyes dropping from the family. She followed them, but she wasn't paying as much attention to them, preoccupied with her own memories and thoughts.

"Siobhan?"

The witch blinked, looking up at Ana. The waitress was a careful distance away (_Had Grandda or the twins told her to be careful when I'm lost in thought, or had she realized that herself?_) concern clear. She cast Ana a smile that may have resembled a grimace.

"Sorry, lost in m'own thoughts," she offered, trying to soften her thoughts and face.

Ana didn't look any less concerned, and perhaps seemed even more so. Siobhan let her eyes shift to Natalya and Walter, who watched Ana and herself with oddly identical inscrutable faces.

"Come on," Natalya said after a long moment, gesturing to her car.

Siobhan got in the back seat without a word. Though, Walter getting into the back seat instead of the front did startle her. _Did I misjudge? _she wondered uneasily, trying to ignore the slight flare of panic. (_She shouldn't really be worried at all, but she also didn't know Walter as well as she knew Natalya or Ana – Or her grandda, Murphy, Connor, and even Rocco. She couldn't think of a reason why Walter would choose to sit by _her_ instead of his wife._)

"So." Siobhan swallowed nervously when Walter addressed her. _Not afraid of him. Just afraid of what he _might_ do._

She gave a soft hum, to indicate that he could continue despite her own reservations. Natalya was keeping Ana engrossed in something – clothes? Makeup? – offering the possibility of this being a plot between the two elder Kovacs. Siobhan wouldn't be surprised.

"Who exactly hurt you?"

She really ought to stop hoping no one would see her injuries.

**Feather Fifty Seven**

The young witch carefully sighed.

"I suppose it was a wee bit too much t'hope y'wouldn't notice," she offered quietly. Natalya had told tales of how perceptive Walter could be. The man shrugged, but didn't speak. She knew his eyes were locked onto her even though she wasn't looking at him.

"My school," Siobhan offered, "Was attacked by terrorists. Hence the injuries."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him tilt his head.

"What about the older ones?"

Siobhan, despite trying not to, felt herself tense, sending vague shocks of pain through her body. She let her eyes slide closed, knowing it was telling – as was her silence. When someone this perceptive started asking questions, it was extremely difficult to not give _something_ away. And Siobhan basically told him everything.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said softly.

"Yes," he rebutted, "It does." The witch looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion. (_And if she tried to press down the stirring of hope that someone finally, _finally_, saw through her façade, well, would anyone really blame her?_)

Walter met her eyes steadily, waiting.

"Not here," she finally offered, eyes sliding to Ana. Ana, who had been concerned enough to offer an 'abused' stranger help. Ana, who noticed things like Siobhan disliking her legs being revealed, like Siobhan's favorite kind of tea and cake, like . . .

Ana would be horrified to know just how dark and terrible Siobhan's past actually was. Ana shouldn't be touched by the blood on Siobhan's hands. (_No one she cared about should be touched by this blood. No one._)

Walter nodded, shifting his focus to his wife and daughter, his lips tilting up and his eyes soft.

**Feather Fifty Eight**

It was a long week before Walter came to speak with her.

Siobhan, in that week, had asked Alannah to perform a thorough scan, to see just how much her past with the Dursleys and how much her trouble in Hogwarts had actually affected her body.

The answer? Far worse than Siobhan had actually realized. Badly healed breaks and fractures, scars interfering with how reliable her muscles were. . . It wasn't nearly as bad as her current injuries, though, and Alannah could heal the scars and Siobhan's bones – without needing to vanish them, thankfully – if the younger witch chose to. There were some other oddities with her skeleton, but nothing Alannah couldn't fix, the older woman had assured.

"Can you heal the muscle?" That was what was most important. If her bones started causing her trouble, she would ask for them to be healed as well, but not before. (_Why? She wasn't exactly sure. But she didn't want Alannah messing with her bones to the point of refusing any treatment._)

"Should be simple enough, so long as your curse injuries don't cross with the muscles in need of healing. When do you want to start?" the woman asked.

"Do your preparations. We can do it at some point after Ana's birthday."

Siobhan did want to be healed, but. . . Not right now. _Just a bit of a delay. Until after I speak with Walter, else he might actually notice the change_, she thought to herself.

**Feather Fifty Nine**

Siobhan sat across from Walter. He had taken her to his and Natalya's home for privacy's sake.

"M'grandda doesn't know," she started off with, eyes studying a rather large array of old newspaper clippings on one of the walls of the room they were in.

"About the abuse?" Walter asked. Really, he was entirely too good at having no inflection. He seemed . . . non-judgmental. She gave an internal huff, but nodded.

"No one does, really. After m'parents died – I was about a year'n'a half old, maybe a bit younger – I was dropped off at my aunt's house. Thing is, she an' my mother weren't . . . They didn't leave off on the best of terms. I reminded her a lot of my mother."

Siobhan fell quiet a long moment, reigning in the urge to just spill every little thing that was done to her over the years. She chose the basics.

"My bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs. Started cooking about five years old. If the chores they assigned me were incomplete when my uncle came home, or if anything _funny_ happened, I was beat, usually with hands or feet. Sometimes with a belt or different object." She absently rubbed a small scar on her scalp, from where Aunt Petunia had hit her with a frying pan for arguing about food. She had been . . . six?

"It wasn't anything too bad. I'm sure there are people out there who have had a lot worse than me," she offered Walter, a self-deprecating shrug lifting her shoulders.

Walter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Malnutrition. Physical abuse. Conditioning to be a servant – to refuse your own worth as a person. Did your uncle ever touch you?" Siobhan finally looked at Walter, surprised by the question.

**Feather Sixty**

"Does it seem like he did?" she asked in honest curiousity.

Walter's face contorted ever so slightly in disapproval.

"No," Siobhan admitted, "My uncle has not forced any attentions on me. Nor has anyone else, beyond typical teenager loss of control and the occasional stalker-ish tendencies." He didn't seem very happy about that, but he did relax ever so slightly.

"How bad are your injuries from this terrorist attack? Walter asked.

He had a lot of questions, most of which she wasn't ready to answer.

"They're healing," Siobhan hedged, mentally re-evaluating her current pain-levels. Same as before, less sharp and less down-to-her-bones than it was when she first met Walter.

He gave her a flat look.

"I have people helping me with them," she reluctantly elaborated, "And they aren't debilitating." _Unless they flare up,_ her mind whispered, _Then it's all you can do to keep yourself moving through the day instead of curling up on your bed and sobbing in agony._

She didn't tell Walter that.

Instead, she began to tell Walter her plan for the terrorist organization, calling magic one of her 'ways' and refusing to budge on _that_. She didn't need the Kovacs involved in the magic. It was dangerous and she didn't want to risk exposing them to it.

(_This entire situation and their mere _association_ with her was just as, if not more so, dangerous as just knowing magic existed. Siobhan shoved that thought away, determined to keep Walter and the Kovacs in her life. They were good for her._)


	7. Feathers 61-70

**AN:** I like there to be little connecting things in themes. If any reader would like to guess as to the origin of the coffee shop's name, they are free to do so.

**Feather Sixty One**

Walter helped more than she had first thought, both psychologically and physically.

One shouldn't underestimate how much being able to vent helped, no matter how small of an issue or how little detail there was in said venting.

"Y'seem better," Connor greeted with a lazy smile. They sat at the coffee shop – Vilon's Manna – that Ana worked at, though she wasn't working at the moment. Siobhan gave a smile to the trio – Connor, Murphy, and Rocco; Ana was with her family, and the other twins were . . . not here – and took a seat.

"I feel better," she admitted. Ana's birthday had come and gone, then she had her discussion with Walter, and _then_ Alannah had taken it upon herself to begin Siobhan's healing. The aches of her muscles were already better, and they had just begun the day prior.

Siobhan watched with mild amusement as Rocco and the twins bantered, sipping on her usual – chai tea latte – when it arrived.

Walter had helped with her injuries – had asked to look at them, and she let him because she was beginning to trust him – had shown her stretches to keep the scars from being restrictive. She did them because they were something physical to do. Siobhan hadn't felt this energetic since – since before the fall of Hogwarts.

For now, the witch enjoyed her time with her friends, recovering and readying herself for future battles. She didn't feel alone anymore. (_She did regret, though. Regretted that she couldn't stay for far longer. But she wouldn't leave anyone to die. Not again._)

**Feather Sixty Two**

Asbjørn and Alannah were _furious_ when they found out Walter had been getting her to practice fighting (never mind the fact that Walter didn't _force_ her to do anything she didn't think she could do) despite them forbidding her.

Siobhan's tutors had found out when Alannah noticed the aggravated state of her injuries, as if she was just a hair's breadth from going too far physically. After they had properly told her off, they had 'asked' her to take them to Walter. Siobhan complied – it wasn't like Walter would stop. He wouldn't let them bully him into that.

"You have _no right_ to be doing our jobs!" Alannah bit out angrily, ranting at Walter. Thankfully, Natalya and Ana weren't present.

"What jobs?" Walter grunted, looking to Siobhan.

"They're my tutors. For the fighting," Siobhan admitted stiffly, "But they were going too slowly and wouldn't hear a word about going any faster."

The red-haired man turned back to her tutors, studying them. Siobhan suddenly wondered if this had been such a good idea, introducing Walter to not just her, but two additional magic-users . . .

"Why?" he asked of them.

"'Why', what?" Asbjørn rumbled, glaring over thick facial hair.

"Why can't I teach her?" Walter clarified, features unmoving.

"Because she's _ours_ to teach! Not you, not a – " Alannah cut herself off. The red-haired man's eyes sharpened, focusing on the woman.

(_There are, _Siobhan thought despite the situation, despite Alannah almost calling Walter a 'mundane',_ A lot of red-haired people in my life. Alannah, Natalya, Ana, Walter, and Malachi. I'm almost positive Bonnie used to be red-haired, as well._)

"You aren't involved in this. I suggest staying out of it, while you can," Alannah continued, a threatening lilt to her voice.

"Well, that's my choice, isn't it?"

**Feather Sixty Three**

"You would put your wife and kid in danger?" Asbjørn growled, gesturing vaguely at one of the pictures.

"No more than _you_ do by taking it so slow with Siobhan," Walter bit out.

The witch glanced between the trio, trying to ignore the sudden jump of fear in her heart. (_It wasn't like they would turn on _her_, not in a physical fashion, anyway. They were here to _help_ her. . . Right?_)

"It doesn't matter," Siobhan said, overriding any other words, "Because I need all the help I can get. Walter offered his assistance, I accepted. You guys can work something out or just ignore each other, but don't try and dictate what you think I can or cannot do if _I offer otherwise_."

"We only meant –" Alannah started.

"You thought you knew best, and wouldn't think of _maybe she's right_," Siobhan said to Alannah and Asbjørn, "I know my body fairly well, and I would like to at least _try_ to do something just to see if I could. To test my limits. What the both of you have been having me do doesn't make me exhausted. It does not push me to my limits. What Walter has been doing, does."

Alannah and Asbjørn exchanged looks.

"Fine," the Norwegian grumbled, "We'll do this your way, lass." _Lass. People really say that? _Siobhan thought, bemused. Asbjørn had only used 'girl' or 'Potter' when addressing her so far.

"Thank you," the young witch said to them.

To be fair, though. . . It had taken some time for Siobhan to realize they weren't going as quickly as they could have been. That her original tutors weren't exactly helping push her limits as far as they could go. Walter had just come in at the right time.

**Feather Sixty Four**

It had been nearly two months since Siobhan had heard from Laketta and Tianna.

"D'ya know where they are?" the young witch asked Ana in early February. The ginger blinked, then frowned in thought.

"They said they were going to their parents' home for the holidays." The waitress checked the date, frowning more. "I'll call them," she offered resolutely. Siobhan nodded, going back to her cake.

"Now, are you going to tell me what you and my father are doing every other day?"

The witch stiffened, surprise making her eyebrows dart upwards. She wasn't sure how to reply to the statement.

"Shiv, you can tell me _anything_, you know you can, right?" Ana asked, worry furrowing her forehead.

"Not unless it endangers you," Siobhan replied, opting for honesty – vague honesty, yes, but not lies, not to Ana.

"Endangers me?" Ana asked incredulously, "But you're with my _father_, how can that _not_ endanger me?"

"You not knowing specifically what we are doing protects you from retribution," Siobhan explained, then quickly added, "We aren't _involved _or anything, but what he is helping me with is something he knows very well. That's all I can tell you without endangering you."

The older woman studied Siobhan, concern etched into her features. "I didn't think you were involved," Ana offered quietly.

"I had to make sure," the witch stated, "Doubt . . . Doubt and distrust can begin with small things. And I do trust you – but you cannot defend yourself against what I am going against. It's enough of a risk involving Walter."

Ana made a small noise of dissatisfaction, but thankfully stopped pressing.

**AN: **Yay, another cameo. This one's not going to be nearly as heavily involved. They'll meet occasionally in the coffeeshop – though probably not actually mentioned in the story.

**Feather Sixty Five**

Siobhan was stiff and sore as she sat at a table in Vilon's Manna, nursing a rather large cup of 'Hot Chocolate Bianco' – rich white hot coco with whipped cream on top – as she tried to relax, slowly but surely making her way through the _Tanakh_ the priest had given her what seemed like so long ago. The young witch had yet to even make it halfway, being inexperienced with the language in general.

"Hey."

It took Siobhan a few moments to realize someone had spoken to her. Once she had, she glanced up, brow furrowing in confusion. The brunette hadn't recognized the voice. It was another woman – also brunette, though possessing long waves of dark brown as to Siobhan's shoulder-length mop of black, and having hazel eyes to Siobhan's green. They could almost, perhaps, be mistaken for sisters.

"Mind if I sit here?" The woman didn't wait for an answer before plopping down in the seat across from her. One of the waitresses stopped by a few moments later, placing a chocolate-y looking drink as well as a bagel sandwich before the stranger. _Apparently she's a regular, or perhaps ordered before sitting._

"May I help you?" Siobhan asked, more confused than irritated at the moment.

"Nope."

The witch arched an eyebrow in disbelief, gingerly leaning back to give the woman an expectant stare.

Said woman rolled her eyes and gave a put-upon sigh. "I'm Darcy. I'm just taking refuge from the dudes back there who think I'm an easy lay." 'Darcy' indicated out the window, where a small group of men – boys, really – loitered, casting glances into the coffeeshop.

"Alright," the witch said amiably, going back to her reading.

**AN:** His appearance is inspired by Aiden Pierce of the yet-unreleased 'WATCH_DOGS' video game.

**Feather Sixty Six**

Siobhan eyed the strange man cautiously. She had been brought to the precinct by a pair of police officers – they had asked, something in relation with an ongoing investigation. Kian had been reluctant to let her go, but she had opted to comply with them, and convinced him to let her do so.

Currently, the young witch was waiting in one of the interrogation rooms, waiting for the man across from her to speak. She took the time to study him. He had green eyes, dark hair, straight nose, thin lips, and a strong jaw; he was also clad in a thigh-length brown leather coat, and a crème sweater or long sleeved shirt, from what she could see.

Her ears almost involuntarily perked when he sighed and leaned forward.

"Miss Potter, correct?" He had a rough voice. Siobhan tilted her head, waiting.

"For the record," he started again, "You _are_ Siobhan Juniper Potter?"

"Yes," she stated.

A nod from the man. "I am Operative Kuche."

'Dog'. Was it an unfortunate name, or something chosen purposefully? Siobhan wasn't sure.

"You are noted in the contacts of both Tianna and Laketta Grant. May I ask your relationship to them?"

_Oh._

"What happened to them?" she asked softly.

His eyes flickered briefly, but the witch was unable to discern the emotions – she never had been good with eyes, only body language and words.

"Laketta and Tianna Grant were found severely injured three days ago. Yesterday, Laketta Grant passed away due to her injuries. Tianna Grant will pass on soon as well, due to the extent of damage both to her body and her mind," he finally allowed.

**AN: **I forgot to mention: 'kuche' is the Romanized Bulgarian word for 'dog' (куче).

**Feather Sixty Seven**

Siobhan didn't know how he saw her reactions. Rage was burning in her, as was sorrow.

"Have you contacted their family and other friends?" she asked, wondering if her voice sounded as stiff and strange as it seemed.

"Of the Grant girls' status, yes. However, the nature of these attacks compel us to seek out those with magic and who had been in contact with them. Namely, you," the Dog – that's what he was, the USA's magical enforcement that was so feared – explained curtly. _The name is unlikely a coincidence, _she finally decided.

Siobhan's lips thinned. "They died via magic? Or due to a creature or being?" she inquired, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes. Do you know anything?"

The young witch scowled. "About who or what would have attacked them? Aside from the Death Eaters of Britain – of whom I doubt you would allow entry into this country – no. I don't know. As far as I am aware, Laketta and Tianna were in no way associated with the less mundane side of society, exempting myself."

Operative Kuche sighed, rubbing his neck briefly.

"Very well," he finally said roughly, "Thank you for your time, Miss Potter. You're free to return home. If I have need, is it alright if I contact you again?"

Siobhan felt her brow furrow. "You. . . want _my _permission to do your job?" the witch asked, confused.

A nod. "I. . . Yes, you can contact me whenever. Just – try not to stoop to stalking?" she half-asked, half ordered. A snort came from Kuche.

"Alright. One of the officers should be waiting to take you home. Here's a number – should you actually find evidence of malicious magical activity, please report it."

Siobhan took the number, wandering away in something of a daze.

**Feather Sixty Eight**

_I have to tell my friends,_ Siobhan realized, pausing midstep in McGinty's.

"Shiv?" The young witch looked at her grandda, wondering if she looked as worn as she felt. _I have to tell my friends that their own friends are dead. Again._

Siobhan was horrified to feel tears building up in her eyes – she should be used to this, used to people around her dying. It had been happening since she was a child.

The witch stumbled up to her room, head down.

_How am I going to explain this? Connor and Murphy know, but I don't think Rocco does, and Anna. . . Anna doesn't._

"Siobhan?"

"Laketta and Tianna were murdered," she stated, not turning around, "They called me in to ask if I knew anything." _Use that. Just. . . Just use that. Any further details are classified, _she thought distantly.

"Oh, no. . . _Siobhan. . ._" The sorrow in her grandda's voice almost broke the dam holding her grief at bay.

"I'd like to be alone. Please."

Kian sighed softly, but he complied. "If yeh need anythin'. . ."

"I'll call for you," she lied.

He left quietly.

_After so many people being murdered around me, you'd think I'd be used to it. It never gets any easier, though. Fucking __**shit**__. Why them? Who – what – killed them?_

Siobhan found herself staring at the card Kuche had given her, sitting almost listlessly on her bed.

_Why them? Why not some other girls?_ she thought, then was appalled by her own selfishness.

She wouldn't – _shouldn't _– wish that upon anyone innocent.

**Feather Sixty Nine**

Anna was told first. She had been horrified and had broken down crying. Siobhan tried to comfort her – she had experience, after all – but hadn't seemed to be effective in any form.

Rocco was told separate from the twins – _There's only one set of twins now. Only one._ – and he hadn't broken down like Anna, though it seemed to be a close thing.

He had demanded to know where Tianna was, so he could say his goodbyes, though, which Anna had not – not yet, anyway. Siobhan admitted she didn't know and that it was likely classified for Tianna's safety.

"_Safety? _What _safety_ will save her from dying?" Rocco has spat out. Siobhan remained silent, her eyes falling away from the Italian as she was unable to answer.

The Twins, of course, were next. They had been rather close to Tianna and Laketta, and the young witch dreaded their reaction.

"Holy _shit_," Murphy cursed, hands gripping his hair tightly, pain becoming clear on his face.

"How th' _fuck_ did this happen?" Connor demanded of her, "How're they – _How_?"

"One of the Dogs told me it was from – _my_ half of the world. Not. . . Not yours," Siobhan admitted, willing away her own urge to cry. _Not in front of them._

"D'th' others know?" Murphy asked hesitantly.

"I. . . I told Anna and Rocco that they're gone, but not. . . how."

She hadn't wanted them to blame her. That's what happened in grief. One found something not too far off to blame, instead of the out-of-reach cause. It's happened before, and would happen again. The witch just didn't know if she could take that, in addition to the danger she'd be putting them in.

"Thanks, Shiv. For tellin' us," the dark-haired twin offered.

"Yeah. . . No problem."

**Feather Seventy**

Something must have been off in her voice. That was the only reason Siobhan could think of for the arms wrapping her up tightly.

"W-Why are you . . .?" Yes. Something was off with her voice. It was strained with emotion, clogged even.

"Shh. 'S okay, Shiv. Jus' let it go," Murphy said quietly.

"I – I don't. . . What are you trying to do?" Siobhan asked. Were they trying to comfort her? To get her to cry, to release her loss? She had done that to some of her friends. To some of those who wished to bottle up their grief.

"Y'think we'd just forget tha' they were _yer_ friends, too?"

The witch had, actually, thought that they wouldn't think of that.

"That yeh had to come'n tell all'a us about this?" Connor added roughly, placing a comforting hand on her back.

Siobhan let her head burrow into Murphy's chest, merely trying to soak in their strength. She didn't want to cry in front of them, and was quite content to just lean on them.

"Thank you," she mumbled into the dark-haired twin's shirt, a sigh of relief leaving her when Connor started to rub circles in her back.

"'S'th' least we could do, yeah?" Connor offered, uncertainty in his voice.

"This is all I can ask of you," the witch replied quietly.

A single silent presence was worth a million bluffers, after all. And Siobhan felt like she _needed_ this.

It wasn't like anyone ever just offered to be there for her. Her friends hadn't realized just how comforting being hugged by them was for her.

Maybe her new friends would.

Maybe they wouldn't.


End file.
